Every Breath You Take
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: My first Supernatural fanfic!  After reading some other fic, I've adjusted the rating back to T for just a little mature content.  The boys wanted one day, one day, of relaxation. Something out there has other, more sinister, plans.  Reviews Appreciated!
1. A Cry in the Night

Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish that I owned Dean and Sam, I don't. Many thanks to Eric Kripke for creating such wonderful characters.

Every Breath You Take

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Dean!" Sam Winchester bolted straight up in bed, lungs heaving and sweat running in rivulets down his face.

Torn from slumber by his brother's tortured yell, Dean rolled over, instantly alert, and flipped on the light. When no creepy crawly spirit or other monster greeted him, he relaxed—but only marginally.

Turning his attention to Sam, he realized his brother was clutching his head and rocking back and forth.

"No! Dean!" Again the anguished cry exploded past Sam's lips.

Dean threw back the green-gray covers and rushed to Sam's side. He grabbed the younger man's shoulders and gave him a little shake.

"Sammy? Sam, c'mon, what's goin' on—another vision?"

Sam's eyes opened and he quit rocking. Still breathing as if he'd just run a marathon, he gasped, "Dean? You okay?"

"Well, I was . . . until you decided midnight was a good time to start yelling at the top of your lungs," the elder Winchester's concerned expression belied his joking tone.

"Lift up your shirt."

"What?"

"Lift up your shirt."

"Now Sammy, I know you're envious of my ultra-fine physique, but this is . . ."

"Dean . . ." growled Sam.

"Okay, okay. No need to get nasty." Dean lifted up the frayed gray t-shirt he'd worn to bed until it pooled around his neck, revealing his bare stomach and chest. "There. Satisfied?"

"Turn around."

Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Dean did as his brother instructed before pulling his shirt back down.

"So . . . you wanna tell me what this is all about?"

TBC . . .


	2. Naked

"No. Not really," muttered Sam, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Was it another Technicolor demon vision by YED, Inc.?"

"Yes . . . no . . . I dunno. It was—different somehow."

"How?"

Sam shook his head. "I dunno. I can't explain it. It just felt different."

"And it involves me."

"Yeah."

"So what was I doing—killing some badass evil sonuvabitch?"

"Um—no."

Dean was surprised to see his brother's cheeks turn a little red. "So what was I doing?"

"You . . . um . . . you were . . . naked. Completely naked. And there were these two women."

"Sammy," crowed Dean, "that's not a nightmare vision, that's a dream come true!"

"No. No. You . . . you were tied down. Tied down to some kind of table or something."

"Tied to a table?" Dean scrunched his eyes and momentarily leered at the ceiling. "A little kinky, but hey . . ." He shrugged.

"Dean, you don't understand—there was blood. You were bloody. And there was something carved on your chest—a word or a . . . a . . ."

"So—more than a little kinky," the other man quipped, ignoring the slight chill at the back of his neck.

"Dude—can you like be serious for a min—"

"Sam, look, I'm fine. You saw for yourself."

"But . . ."

"We're not even here on a hunt, remember?"

"I know. But . . ."

"C'mon, Sam! We agreed we'd take one day—one day--just to have fun. And since I always wanted to try fishing and see what it was like, we're here at Pine Lake to fish. Tomorrow. Early." Dean nudged the mattress with his foot. "So get some sleep."

"Okay. All right, fine." Sam flopped back on the bed and covered his eyes with his left arm. "I'll see you in the morning," he mumbled.

Before crawling back in bed and extinguishing the light, Dean decided he needed a drink of water. He ambled lazily to the bathroom and filled a glass, downing the cool liquid in a few gulps.

On his way back to his own bed, Dean paused at the foot of Sam's and let his brother's earlier words echo briefly in his mind. With a weary grunt, he determinedly turned his mind to fishing and walked to his own bed. After snapping off the light sitting on the small table separating their beds, he settled in and closed his eyes.

In the other bed, Sam Winchester gradually sank into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep. Dean Winchester wasn't quite so lucky.

TBC . . .


	3. Entranced

The drab motel room fell into silence, broken only by the deep, measured breathing of one brother and the restless shifting of the other. Abstract shadows danced now and again on the walls as the occasional car drove past.

Between one shadow dance and the next, a woman appeared and dropped soundlessly down on the bed next to the elder Winchester. Her fingers lightly stroked his cheek and trailed down his neck.

"My, oh my, you are a fine one. You'll do quite nicely."

The soft, breathy voice pulled Dean from sleep. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself staring at a gorgeous brunette. Her pearlescent complexion and topaz eyes contrasted nicely with her long, wavy hair that cascaded down her back. On some level her presence unsettled him, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"Huh?" he muttered dazedly.

The woman placed a cool finger against Dean's suddenly chapped lips. He shifted uncomfortably; the room suddenly seemed to be 20 degrees hotter than it had been a few moments ago.

The brunette canted forward to whisper in his ear.

"You want me don't you," she purred, "You must want me. You need to want me. With every breath . . ."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but before he managed to make a sound she turned her head so that her mouth hovered just over his.

"Shhh." She angled closer and inhaled as he exhaled. Long moments passed as she drank the very air passing across his lips.

A strange lethargy crept over Dean. His limbs grew heavy. When she pulled the sheet and blanket back, he did not—could not—move. He felt her hands slip under his shirt and explore his chest and shoulders.

"I don't . . . what are you . . ." his voice was no more than a whisper.

"Uh uh," she cooed, "no talking."

Dean stared into her eyes and the desire to speak faded away. Her hands felt impossibly, undeniably, good as they roamed over his upper body. He gasped when she dragged a long, pointed fingernail across his belly. A rare protest tumbled through his mind but remained unvoiced.

Again the brunette raked her fingernail across his stomach; this time harder, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She smiled and licked her lips.

Dean shuddered.

"I need more."

Without hesitation, her hands moved lower and slipped under the covers.

Dean wanted to call out, wanted to stop her—yet the words mysteriously refused to coalesce. The only sound he could make was a groan.

SN SN

TBC . . .


	4. You've Got to Be Kidding Me

Dean came awake with a start, roused by the sound of a car door slamming seemingly right outside the window of their room. Cracking open an eye, he was surprised to see the first brilliant streaks of dawn lasering through a gap in the curtains.

_Damn—morning already?_

He rolled onto his back and yawned, coveting the thought of a steamy hot cup of coffee. It was when he went to stretch that he felt a familiar dampness on his boxers. A quick peek confirmed his suspicion, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment.

_A wet dream? You got to be kidding me! I haven't had one of those since I was 16!_

He glanced over at his still sleeping sibling. His cheeks grew even redder.

_God—if Sam knew, I'd never—NEVER—hear the end of it._

Just thinking about that made Dean close his eyes and cringe. The moment his eyelids slammed shut, quick flashes from his dream assaulted him. He gasped and sat up. He doesn't remember those kinds of dreams being so intense, even at the age of 16 when everything is intense.

Shoving aside the covers, he stood—ridiculously grateful that the room was still dark and that Sam still snored away in the other bed. Truth be told, Dean wished he could return to sleep. A bone-deep weariness tugged at every muscle. He staggered to his duffel bag and pulled out clean clothes. As quietly as possible, Dean walked to the bathroom, not even swearing when he stubbed his toe on the door jamb. Once in the bathroom, he snicked the door shut and sighed in relief. It was a short respite though. When he pulled off his shirt, he discovered several long, red welts snaking across his belly. Even worse, he found similar marks on his thighs. Recalling Sam's words about his dream, Dean felt a chill march down his back.

Walking back into the room some twenty-five minutes later, he felt a bit steadier, but not much. His brother was probably going to kill him for taking such a long shower and using up most, if not all, of the hot water.

Reaching out a bare foot, he vigorously wiggled Sam's mattress. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty—time to get up!"

Sam mumbled something incomprehensible and buried his face deeper in his pillow.

Dean wiggled the mattress even harder, practically setting Sam's body to bouncing like a ball.

"C'mon, Sam. Get a move on. Aren't people supposed to start fishing early in the morning?"

"Dude—all right already." The growl emanating from his brother, whose face was still firmly planted in his pillow, was heartfelt and promised retribution if Dean didn't quit his antics.

Sam slowly rolled out of bed, the sheet and blanket so entangled around his long limbs they came with him. He shed them as he stalked to the bathroom.

Dean heard the shower start up and glanced at his watch.

_Now might be a good time to make an escape._

Grabbing his wallet, he stuffed it in his back pocket, and made a beeline for the door. "Hey, uh, Sammy," he yelled, "I'm . . . ah . . . gonna go get us so—"

"DEAN!" Sam's roar reverberated throughout the motel room.

Dean's stopped in his tracks, shoulders hunched up around his ears.

"You jerk. You didn't leave me any hot water!"

Dean slipped out the door, hoping that hot coffee and whatever else he could scrounge up for breakfast would make a suitable peace offering.

TBC . . .


	5. Lemonade Muffins

A quick inquiry at the motel office directed the elder Winchester to a little bakery about a mile down from the Silver Pines Motel. Considering the size of the Village of Pine Lake and the fact that it looked like it had seen better days, Dean was surprised to see this modern and pleasant little shop. The instant he entered the Sweet Tooth Bakery, Dean's mouth began to water. The combined aromas of rich coffee and buttery pastries nearly brought him to his knees. His stomach growled uncontrollably.

"Good morning, young man. May I help you?" inquired the fifty-ish looking woman behind the counter. Her eyes held a merry twinkle and her sunny smile was infectious.

Dean couldn't help but smile back.

"Um . . . yeah . . . uh, I know I want two large coffees—one black and one with cream and sugar. Not sure what else." He covetously eyed the confections displayed behind the glass.

"We have a lot to choose from. Do you have a favorite or would you like to try something new?"

A long-forgotten memory flooded through Dean's mind. It was a happy one of his mother cooking—cooking something extra special for him and Dad on Saturday mornings. A wistful expression crossed his face.

"Do you have . . ." Dean stopped for a moment and swallowed.

Mattie Sullivan eyed the young man across the counter. For a fleeting moment, the expression on his face looked to be that of a hopeful five-year-old.

"Do you have Lemonade Muffins? My . . . my mom used to make something she called Lemonade Muffins."

"Well, I don't have any with that exact name. But I have Lemon Streusel Muffins that I took out of the oven not five minutes ago. Would you like one of those?"

Dean nodded. "Two. My brother's back at the motel."

"Anything else?"

Dean looked longingly at the other baked goods but shook his head no.

"No . . . ma'am. Unfortunately, cash is a little tight at the moment." Dean's stomach growled, loudly, in protest of his words. He ducked his head and muttered, "Sorry about that."

Mattie smiled and said, "No need to fret." As she spoke, she again assessed the handsome young man in front of her. He had an oddly gaunt look about him despite his size and dark circles under his eyes. In truth, though he appeared to be good at hiding it, he looked done in. Instinct and intuition told her that underneath it all, he was a good man. And her husband, Daniel, always told her she was an excellent judge of character.

"Tell you what, I'll throw in a couple of extras for you—no charge. Let's see, how about some Peach Praline Muffins and Dark Cherry-Cheese Danish? That oughta tame that growl of yours."

Dean instinctively started to protest, but Mattie would have none of it. A few minutes later he was on his way out the door with two super-sized cups of coffee and a white paper bag that he carried as if it held a sacred treasure.

The lemon muffins never made it back to the motel.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Sam looked up from his laptop when he heard his brother come through their motel room door. Dean hadn't been gone long enough for Sam to be completely over his irritation about the shower, and he scowled at his brother.

"Dude, that was so not cool. Next time I leave **you** with nothing but cold water."

Dean had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Hey, I didn't do it on purpose. I just needed a little more help getting going this morning."

Something in Dean's tone was off. Sam eyed his brother. "Hey, if it was because of my dream and me waking you up . . ."

"It wasn't," Dean answered, feeling the sting of the scratches hidden from Sam's view.

His words and tone were firm but just shy of convincing and Sam was left wondering.

"Here, I brought a peace offering. Coffee—" Dean held up one of the cups, "and the best damn tasting things we've had in a long time." He reverently placed the white bag down on the table in front of Sam. The coffee cup landed a second later.

"Things?" the younger man raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah—you know—muffins, pastries—those things."

Sam reached into the bag and pulled out the four items inside. He had to admit, the breakfast baked goods looked better than many of their recent meals. With a sigh, he happily took a giant bite out of one of the cherry-and-cheese filled Danish.

"Aren't you going to have any?" he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

Dean took a long draw on his coffee before answering, "Nah, I've already had two."

"Really?" Sam eyed the food in front of him, "Why did—or make that how did—you get so much?"

His brother shrugged. "The woman behind the counter liked me, I guess."

"Let me guess—blonde bombshell in a mini-skirt who fell for your so-called _charm_," teased Sam.

"Nope, more like 50 and in a sweat suit. Now shut up and eat, I wanna get to the lake. In fact, grab what you want and let's go."

Holding the half-eaten pastry in his teeth, Sam stuffed the remaining food back in the sack, shut his laptop, grabbed his coffee, and followed Dean out of the room.

Sometimes peace offerings were worth a little irritation.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

TBC . . .

I apologize that not much excitement happened in this chapter. I promise—more exciting chapters are on their way!

Hope I'm not boring everyone too much.


	6. You'll Scare the Fish

A light spring breeze playfully tossed the canopy of leaves just being kissed by the dawn as the boys made their way along a well-worn path in the woods surrounding Pine Lake. Their destination was the best fishing spot on the whole of the lake—at least according to Stan at Stan's Bait and Tackle Shop, where they'd rented two fishing poles and bought some bait.

Suddenly, the sound of whistling filled the air, and Sam shot his brother a strange look. "Dude, why are you whistling the theme from 'The Andy Griffith Show'?"

"I dunno—seemed appropriate," Dean shrugged and grinned, a lighthearted expression on his normally too serious face. "I kinda feel like Sheriff Andy Taylor right now." He wiggled the fishing pole he carried in his right hand.

Sam smiled at Dean's bit of silliness and played along. "Hey, wait a minute—if you're Andy, then does that mean I'm Opie?" the taller brother dramatically splayed his hand across his chest, "Because I am so NOT Opie!"

Pausing for a moment, Dean eyed his brother from head to toe before saying, "Nah. Not Opie. I've always had you pegged as more like Barney Fife."

"Barney Fife—oh, dude—NOW I'm insulted."

"Hey, could be worse, I coulda said that you were more like Aunt Bee," Dean smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "Ahh, that Aunt Bee—she was quite a woman, wasn't she?"

Sam snorted. "You are one messed up individual." He playfully slugged Dean in the arm.

Their laughter, lately such a rare sound, reached the highest treetops.

By now, they'd reached the lake and headed for a small sandy stretch dotted with a few good-sized boulders. Dean set his fishing pole and the tackle box he carried on the ground and then rubbed his hands together. "So . . . what do we do next?"

"We have to bait the hooks and cast off, I guess." Sam grabbed a fishing pole and the container of earthworms they'd purchased at Stan's.

"Um . . . oookay," Dean muttered hesitantly.

"Here, I'll show you," Sam selected a worm from the container. "Watch."

"Yuck."

The younger Winchester shot his brother an incredulous look. "Yuck? What do you mean yuck?"

Dean fidgeted. "Nuthin. It's just . . . worms are gross."

"Seriously? Dude, you see worse than this on almost every hunt!"

Sam could have sworn his brother actually shuddered.

"All slimy. And they have a nasty smell."

"Worms do not smell," scoffed Sam.

"Sure they do. Haven't you ever smelled that nasty smell after it's rained a long time? It's almost as bad as sulfur."

"Dean, that's just plain weird. Of course," Sam chuckled, "**you're** weird so it makes sense."

The older Winchester tossed a disgruntled look in his brother's direction. "Yeah, well, you never had to eat one before."

"You've eaten a worm? What—did it just get in the way when you were chomping on something else?"

That earned him a fierce glare. "Ha ha. Very funny."

"Dude, I've seen you eat, remember? It was a logical assumption."

The elder Winchester snorted. "What're you Mr. Spock now? Look, it was a bet. What was I supposed to do?"

"So someone bet you money you could eat a worm and you did it?"

"No, not for money," Dean sarcastically mimicked his brother's tone, "It was in the early days of my badass big brother career."

"So it was because of me?" Sam thumped his hand to his chest.

Dean shrugged. "Well, it was that or let the bully get a hold of you." A heartbeat or two of silence went by before Dean continued, "Sammy, do not—I repeat, do not—get that look in your eye."

All innocence, Sam said, "What look?"

"That sappy, melty, shimmery thing you do," Dean groused, "Besides if you start blubbering you'll scare the fish."

"But—"

Dean elbowed Sam in the side. "Just finish doin' the hook thing."

Sam, though frustrated, did as his brother wanted and finished baiting the hook. "And then you cast off—like this." The younger man planted his feet just so and let the fishing line fly. A couple of seconds later, the baited hook plopped into the still water of Pine Lake.

"Hey, that was pretty good. Where'd you learn to do that?"

Now it was the younger Winchester's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "Ah, I went on a couple of fishing trips with Jess. She taught me."

"Wait a minute—your _girlfriend_ taught you to fish?"

"Yeah, and she was really good at it too. Learned from her Dad. Now you try."

Taking a deep breath, Dean reluctantly selected a worm and, ignoring the feel of it wiggling between his fingers, concentrated on getting it on his hook. Once it was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now cast off like I showed you."

Dean assumed the stance and let the line fly. At least, he thought he did. His first attempt ended with the hook and line tangled around a tree branch. His second attempt resulted in the hook embedding in Sam's shirt when he didn't duck fast enough. Finally, on his third attempt, he was successful and he grinned in satisfaction as the hook sank into the water.

After about an hour, Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his free hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat beaded there. He felt oddly tired.

"Man, this is supposed to be the best fishing spot on the lake? That Stan guy didn't know what he was talking about."

"Fishing is a sport of patience, Dean," counseled Sam, "besides half the fun of fishing is simply enjoying nature."

Frowning over at his brother, Dean grumbled, "Yeah, well, you can enjoy nature 'cause you don't have the sun beating down on you like you're under a magnifying glass."

"Stop being so grouchy. Why don't you just move to a more comfortable spot?"

"Good idea." Dean glanced around looking for a new place to stand. His gaze stopped on a small, shaded outcropping over the lake. It seemed to call his name. "I'm goin' over there," he jerked his chin to the right.

Sam watched his brother as he made his way over to the new area. He felt a tug on his line and turned his attention back to his fishing pole, testing to see if he'd gotten a bite. The tugging stopped moments later and the line loosened. Nope, not a fish—most likely some sort of debris. He looked back toward Dean and was startled to see his brother just standing there, barely gripping his fishing pole. His head was cocked slightly to the left as if he was listening to something.

"Dean? Hey, Dean?" he called loudly.

Dean jumped when he heard Sam's yell. He blinked a few times. "Um, what?"

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure you should be standing up there? That it's safe?"

"Sam, stop worrying. It's fi—"

Without warning, a loud rumble filled the air and the ground crumbled beneath Dean's feet. The last thing Sam heard was Dean's yelp when he hit the cold water of Pine Lake.

TBC . . .


	7. Those Are Just Scratches

"Shit! Dean!" Sam frantically searched the churning dark water for any sign of his brother. Agonizing seconds went by, and Sam was just rushing forward, determined to dive in, when Dean exploded to the surface.

"Dean!" Sam watched as his brother sputtered for a moment before turning toward the sound of his voice.

Between bouts of hacking and coughing, Dean managed a gravelly, "I'm okay." After treading water for a minute to regain his equilibrium, he began to swim for shore. Once there, Dean gratefully grabbed Sam's offered hand and hauled himself out of the water with his brother's assistance. On dry land, he stood hunched over, hands resting on his knees as he coughed.

"You sure you're okay?"

Nodding, Dean took a deep breath and spat on the ground. "Yeah. Yeah, just swallowed some tasty lake water." A sudden breeze sprang up from nowhere and Dean shivered. "Damn, that water's cold." Having regained his breath, he straightened. Without a second thought, he tugged his sodden green t-shirt off to wring out some of the excess water.

"What the hell? Dean, what happened?"

"What?" The elder Winchester bent over and began pulling off his boots and socks.

"Those cuts on your stomach."

_Damn, I forgot about those._

"Those? Those are just scratches."

"Cuts, scratches, welts—whatever—the point is, they weren't there last night when I asked you to lift your shirt."

"It's nothing, Sam, don't worry about it. It's not like it's a symbol or word."

Undeterred, Sam reached out, grabbed Dean's wrist, and repeated, "What happened?"

Dean broke his brother's hold and finished pulling his wet t-shirt over his head. When he was done, he glanced at Sam hoping he'd let it go; however, the look on Sam's face said he'd wouldn't—not without some sort of answer.

"I just had a dream last night, that's all."

"Dreams don't leave actual wounds, Dean."

Dean muttered, "So maybe I did it to myself by accident."

"Right," scoffed Sam, "by accident."

Swinging around in agitation, Dean walked away and muttered, "Just drop it."

Sam was about to pursue the subject further, when a seductively soft female voice suddenly called out a long, drawn out, "Hello!"

The two brothers turned toward the call and were surprised to see a pretty young blonde, dressed in brown short shorts and a super tight pink tank top, emerge from the surrounding trees. Seconds later, a carbon copy of the first girl followed.

_Sweet! Twins!_ Dean flashed his widest and brightest smile. "Well, hello . . ."

Sam was used to his brother being a veritable chick magnet, but he was still surprised to see both women make a beeline to Dean's side. His brother seemed a bit shocked as well. Surprise gave way to pleasure in a heartbeat.

"We were just out hiking and heard you talking," the first blonde, who was slightly taller than her twin, cooed. "My name is Lamia. She's Lil."

Still smiling, Dean said, "I'm Dean. And he's . . . uh . . . Sam." He made a vague hand gesture toward his brother, never taking his eyes off of Lamia.

When the twins spared a split second glance in his direction, Sam gave a halfhearted wave in greeting. A vague prick of unease danced across the back of his neck.

The women turned their full attention back to Dean and moved even closer, their bodies now pressing tight on either side of him. Sam watched as Lamia and Lil giggled and fawned over his brother while running their fingers over his arms and neck. The one called Lil even boldly slid her hand under his brother's shirt. Dean stood stock still, wide smile locked in place, and let the women do as they pleased. It was then that alarm bells started to toll in Sam's head. Sure Dean loved attention from hot women, but this was just plain odd. His unease grew.

"Hey, Dean," he called, "we should probably get going."

His brother didn't acknowledge his statement in any way.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, a more demanding tone to his voice.

Sam's loud yell finally penetrated the low buzzing and thrumming filling Dean's head. He roused himself enough to look away from the gorgeous blonde in front of him and turn his head. "Sam?"

Sam didn't like the glazed look in the older man's eyes. "Dean, we need to leave. Now."

"Um . . . yeah," the whispery whining in his head grew louder and more piercing, "I mean, no. No, I don't want to leave." The girls' fingers continued to glide over his skin, feeling both hot and cold at the same time, and left goose bumps in their wake.

"Dean, come on!" He stepped toward his brother, intent on pulling him away from the girls.

Lamia was at the taller brother's side in an instant.

"C'mon, Sam," she sing-songed, "he just wants to have a little fun." Lamia smiled, and Sam felt a low hum crawl through his mind. "Don't be such a spoilsport." She reached out and trailed a blazing finger down the younger Winchester's cheek.

"Get away fr—"

A small, almost transparent, flare of green fire glowed in Lil's eyes. "Ssshh. Quiet now."

A soft gray mist filled Sam's mind and his concerns tumbled away like so much debris tossing on the wind.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Something gritty was pressing into his cheek and tickling his nose, bringing on a tremendous sneeze. Rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, Sam pushed himself into a sitting position and groaned at the stiffness in his limbs. It took him a second to realize that the grit he was feeling was sand. He hastily wiped it away.

_Why am I laying facedown in sand?_

Awareness dawned in an instant and Sam scrambled to his feet, repeatedly calling his brother's name. He scanned the area quickly. Silence reigned and nothing moved except the wind-tossed leaves.

"DEAN?"

Other than his shoes and socks, which sat forlornly on the ground where he'd left them, there was no sign of the elder hunter.

The twins were gone.

And so was Dean.

TBC . . .


	8. Oh, Crap, This Can't Be Good

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Note: This chapter contains a little mature content.

* * *

It was an escalating tingling in his hands and feet that roused Dean Winchester from an unnatural slumber. He turned his head restlessly from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the fuzziness and cobwebs. Awareness returned like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle locking into place. He knew he was laying on something uncomfortable and unyielding. He also knew his hands and feet were asleep and the tingling was rapidly becoming painful. It wasn't until he tried to move, however, that he realized that he was tied down.

His eyes flew open as he pulled ineffectually at the restraints. With a hunter's keen observance, he studied his surroundings, squinting in the dusky light. He seemed to be in some sort of small cave, the walls of which were shiny wet in some places and mossy or moldy in others. An oddly foul odor hung heavy in the air, which was damp and oppressive. It clung to Dean's exposed skin like a cold wet blanket. He shivered at its clammy touch.

Feeling the way the chill raced over every inch of his body, Dean suddenly had an appalling suspicion and looked down. He sucked in a quick breath when his suspicion was confirmed.

He was stark naked.

_Oh, crap, this can't be good._

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Sam unlocked the motel room door and slowly shuffled into the room. With a disconsolate sigh, he dropped Dean's shoes and socks on the floor, wondering why he'd carried them in from the car in the first place. Sam sank down on one of the beds and dropped his head in his hands. He'd spent the last four hours combing the woods around Pine Lake for any sign of Dean, all to no avail. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes and up his neck and his throat was raw—his voice hoarse— from shouting Dean's name repeatedly. His decision to come back to the motel room was spurred on solely by the desire to call Bobby to see if he might have an idea of what could be going on.

Before pulling out his cell phone to make the call, he made a quick trip to the bathroom. After taking care of business and washing his hands, he filled the small glass by the sink, and drank the water straight down, soothing his scratchy throat. He glanced in the mirror and was surprised to see his face had a pink tint of sunburn. He cupped his palms and filled his hands with water, generously splashing it over his overly warm face and neck. The achy throb receded slightly and he groaned.

He returned to the room and grabbed his phone. Sam paced from one end of the room to the other as he dialed Bobby's number. His stomach tightened when the Bobby's phone just rang and rang. After about ten rings, he was just about to hang up when the older man finally answered with a somewhat breathless growl.

"Yeah—who's this?"

"Bobby? It's Sam."

"Hey, Sam, what can I do for you?"

"Bobby, it's Dean. He's missing."

"What do you mean he's missing?"

Sam did his best to recall and relate what happened at the lake in a coherent manner.

"And you're sure he didn't just go off with these twins to have a good time, eh? I mean, Dean _is_ quite the ladies' man."

"No, no. This was different. HE was different. It was like he was in a daze. And he had this glassy look in his eyes. Plus there were those weird scratches."

"Scratches?"

"On his stomach. I called them cuts. He said scratches. There were five or six of them."

"Like from an animal?"

"Um . . . no . . . I think . . . I think they were too crisscrossed for that. I dunno. He wouldn't tell me exactly how he got them. He just said he had a dream."

"That it?" muttered Bobby.

"Yeah—I was trying to get more out of him when those girls showed up."

"Anything else I need to know?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Yeah, you need to know about _my_ dream too." He then told Bobby about his dream in as much detail as he could. When he was finished, silence greeted him at the other end.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, kid, I'm still here. Listen, give me a half hour or so to do a little research and I'll call you back."

Sam ended the call and tossed his cell phone on the bed next to him. He needed to get back out there and search for Dean, but searching blindly had gotten him nowhere. Better to wait for Bobby's return call, hopefully imparting some useful information. In the meantime, Sam needed caffeine. Caffeine and sugar—energy to keep him going for as long as it took to get his brother back. Remembering the breakfast goodies, he decided to hit the bakery Dean had visited earlier in the day.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

A small bell over the door jangled when Sam entered the Sweet Tooth Bakery. He was dismayed to see a line of people milling around the counter selecting variety of delicacies but forced himself to stand off to the side and not-so-patiently wait as the customers paid for their wares and left. Finally, the shop emptied and he moved up to the counter.

"May I help you?" Mattie Sullivan smiled cheerfully at the tall man with a mop of unruly brown hair standing in front of her.

"Yes, ma'am. Can I get a couple of your largest cups of coffee, please? Both with cream and sugar."

As she moved away to fulfill his request, she asked, "Would you like anything else with that?"

"No, ma'am, I had some of your wonderful pastries this morn—" Sam's voice trailed off as inspiration struck. "Hey, do you remember waiting on a guy this morning—real early this morning—he's tall, though not quite as tall as me, he has short hair, and probably had on a leather jacket?"

Mattie Sullivan returned to the counter and set the coffee cups down in front of him. As she snapped the cup lids in place, she replied, "Oh, yes, I remember him. Are you perhaps the brother he spoke of? I see a bit of a resemblance."

"Uh huh. That was my brother, Dean."

"Such a nice young man."

"Have you by any chance seen him since then? Since early this morning?"

"Nooo. Why do you ask, hon?"

"He's . . . uh . . . missing."

"Missing?"

"We went fishing this morning at Pine Lake and kinda got separated. I haven't been able to find him."

"Pine Lake? Oh, dear—I hope he's okay. We've had some bad luck up at that lake."

"Bad luck?"

"Well, many years ago we had trouble with some crazed Satanists up there. It was absolutely dreadful. But we got that all cleaned up and it had become a nice, family-friendly place again. Then, in the last year or so, we've had a couple of gentlemen—travelers—disappear from up there. Unfortunately, chances are they simply drowned. It happens. But still, it's mysterious and tragic."

Sam nodded, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. "Thanks for letting me know." He took out his wallet to pay for his coffee. "I'm on my way back up there now."

Mattie placed her hand over Sam's. "No, dear, you keep your money. These are on me. You just go find that brother of yours."

Sam's phone rang just as he was settling into the driver's seat of the Impala. He hurriedly set his coffee down on the dashboard and flipped open his cell.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, kid, it's me. Listen, this thing with Dean could be a lotta things. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's a succubus."

"A succubus?"

"Yeah, it says here it's a female demon that seduces men and steals their very breath and . . . uh . . . other things." Bobby paused.

"What?"

"She . . . um . . . she . . . damn . . . the demon . . . um . . . has sexual intercourse with her victims and steals their . . . um . . . well . . . you know."

"Oh." Sam felt his stomach tighten at the thought.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, most importantly though a succubus _kills_ her victims by drinking their breath."

"I don't understand. Why would a man just lay there and let her do such . . . things?"

"By all accounts I just read succubi and incubi—the male form—are hypnotists and often strike while their victims are asleep. But, Sam, there's something you need to know."

"Yeah?"

"Incubi outnumber succubi roughly 9-to-1. But, the females make up for their lack of numbers by being much more depraved and vicious. And they often prefer to 'play' with their prey while they're awake."

A cold dread trickled down the back of Sam's neck.

"Listen, kid, you need to find that brother of yours and quick. My suggestion from what I've read--look for some sort of rocky ridge or cave. If you don't find him today, he won't survive through the night."

(SN) (SN) (SN)

TBC . . .


	9. Prey

Warning: Some implied mature content.

* * *

Dean lay shivering on his stone perch. He was tired of being cold and equally tired of staring at the roughhewn ceiling overhead. He pondered how long he'd been doing just that. Five minutes would have been too long and he was damn sure it had been a hell of a lot longer than five minutes.

_Where the hell is Sam?_

Worry for his brother tapped a rhythmic cadence in the back of his mind. His wrists and ankles were raw and stinging from fruitlessly pulling on his bonds. Eventually, to break the monotony, he closed his eyes and began to recite an inventory of the arsenal kept in the Impala's trunk. When he finished, he mentally began to review long ago lessons he'd learned from his father.

Whether it was a noise or simply a change in the air, Dean couldn't tell, but he knew in an instant that he was no longer alone. His eyes few open and he stared in shock at the woman from his dream.

"You!"

The woman smiled. "Yes, me. You can call me Asilah. Surprised to see me?"

"It wasn't a dream then?"

"Oh, no—not a dream. Not at all."

Dean flinched at her words.

"What are you? A witch of some sort?"

Dean jumped when the woman threw back her head and laughed.

"A witch? Oh, please—don't insult me like that."

"Then what are you?"

"You'll find out." She shrugged and sauntered closer. "I find I'm a little hungry." The brunette licked her lips and leaned toward him, her hair brushing lightly across his chest.

Bound the way he was, Dean could do nothing but watch as her face drew near his.

"You're a vampire?"

Again the woman chuckled. "No, nothing as mundane as a vampire." She tilted her head in thought. "Though there are some who would say I'm a sexual vampire," she mused.

_I'm really not liking the sound of this. _Dean's stomach rolled as bits and pieces of last night's faux dream came back to him.

He jerked slightly when she reached out and skimmed a finger across the top of his shoulder.

"Relax. All I need from you right now is your breath. A little pick me up before the others come." She leaned in, angling her lips a fraction of an inch away from his. "Well, it'll pick _me_ up but _you_ on the other hand . . ."

"Back off, bitch!" he muttered.

In one smooth move, she reared back and backhanded him across the mouth.

Dean felt his lower lip split and his mouth fill with blood. He turned his head and spat before grinning up at her, his teeth glowing pink in the light.

With lightning speed, Asilah's hand shot out and she gripped Dean's lower jaw. "I could do this the easy way, but why? Essence is far more nourishing—more intoxicating—when forced." Her fingers tightened painfully on his jaw.

"Open your mouth."

At her command, Dean gritted his teeth in defiance.

Her punishing hold became excruciating and still he wouldn't relent. So great was the pressure, Dean was sure the bone would crack any second. Then, without warning, her hand moved from his jaw to his neck and he was suddenly without precious air.

Asilah's hand squeezed harder as Dean thrashed, desperately trying to break her hold. Black and white spots jitterbugged in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, she let go.

Instinctively, Dean began to draw air deep into his lungs. As he heaved in and out, she fed—sucking in breath after tortured breath. Weakness crawled along his limbs, expanding as she harvested her sustenance.

After many long minutes, Asilah sat back and wiped a hand across her mouth. "Mmmm. That's even better than last night."

She reached out and stroked Dean's right hip. "I wonder if that means the rest of the . . . banquet . . . will be better as well."

With every ounce of willpower in his body, the elder Winchester resisted Asilah's sensual touch, yet was revulsed and a little shamed when he felt his body begin to respond to her calculated ministrations.

Sarcasm, his second best friend, sprang to his rescue.

"So this is how an aggressive bitch like you gets some, huh?"

He tensed when her fingers briefly tightened in a tender spot before falling away.

Asilah stared at him for a moment, an evil smile appearing in increments on her face.

"You've no idea. But it will have to wait. The others are here."

"The others?"

"My offspring. Lamia and Lil. Surely you remember them?"

With some effort, Dean vaguely recalled the two young blondes who had shown up unexpectedly at the lake. "The twins?" His face registered confusion.

"Yes, my semi-human offspring. Known as Cambion. And I, of course, am a succubus. I'm quite surprised really that you hadn't figured that out yet. Not so smart . . . for a hunter."

The part human, part demon offspring she spoke of appeared in the mouth of the cave. Hungry eyes locked on Dean. Only then did he see the translucent green glow in their eyes.

"I knew last night you were a good choice," Asilah announced.

Though Dean knew the answer, he reflexively asked, "A good choice for what?"

"Prey."

TBC . . .


	10. Succubus Revealed

Warning: Some implied mature content.

* * *

Sam grunted and groaned as he worked to pull himself out of the narrow cave opening. It was really not much more than a hole—a rather small hole at that. He'd hesitated about even going in at first, but he knew that many times the mouth of a cave could be tiny yet the cavern inside huge. Concern for Dean drove him to take risks he normally wouldn't take.

Streamers of gritty, dun-colored dirt cascaded around his head and shoulders as he maneuvered his lanky body forward. With one last mighty shove, Sam's lower legs and feet cleared the hole and he landed flat out on the ground. Sam stayed that way as he pulled in a few deep breaths and spit grit from his mouth at the same time. Finally, he pushed himself to his hands and knees first before rising to his feet.

Sam wiped at something wet on his left cheek and was startled to see his fingers come away smeared with a little blood. It took him only a second to figure out he'd grazed his cheek somewhere on the rough stone. In fact, several places on his bare chest and arms felt scraped raw. He wasn't surprised though. His large body and the tight passageway were a poor mix. Sam, sans shirt and shoes, had barely squeezed in and out of the confined area. No more than an inch had been spared on all sides. Now that he had a chance to think about it, he was damn happy that he didn't suffer from claustrophobia.

Brushing powdery dirt from his longish dark hair, Sam stalked over to where he'd left the duffle bag and pulled on his t-shirt and shoes. He grabbed the map he'd been using to locate caves in the area and marked a black "X" through the one he'd just explored. This "X" joined three others defacing the map. By his count, that left four more caves to probe and time was running out. The sun was hanging lower in the sky. Finding any of the remaining caves after dark would be next to impossible.

And he could only pray that he'd find Dean in one of them.

Sam hefted the duffle bag up on his shoulder, consulted the map and turned in a circle to get his bearings before heading off at a brisk pace to locate the next cave.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Dean couldn't control an involuntary flinch at the word _prey_.

Seeing his response, Asilah smiled. "Or maybe I should say lab rat first, then prey."

A look of confusion flitted across the hunter's face.

Asilah shrugged. "You'll understand soon enough. Now, I grow weary of maintaining this facade. Ready to see my true form, hunter?"

"Is no an option?"

The succubus remained silent as she stood straight and closed her eyes. Within seconds, Asilah's clothing vanished and her human countenance began to melt away, her face hardening into more severe angles and planes. Pale, delicate skin gave way to a thicker—almost reptilian—skin, mottled dark gray and red. Ropy black lines, like veins, rapidly mapped their way from toe to head—a generous concentration of them snaking across her bare breasts. Large wings partially unfurled from her upper back. With a sigh of contentment she opened her eyes, which were alight with an emerald green fire.

"There—that's better." The demon cocked her head. "Like what you see?"

Dean snorted. "Damn. And I thought you were ugly before."

Asilah's eyes flared neon for a moment and she reached out, digging all five of her red, spiky nails into his side. They sliced through his skin like a scalpel. She laughed when Dean bit back a hiss of pain.

"If you're going to make me angry, hunter, save it for later—when I can enjoy it."

Asilah motioned for Lamia and Lil, who'd been standing by avidly taking everything in, to come closer.

Dean was staring at the trio when a question occurred to him. "I thought demons couldn't reproduce?"

"We can't. Not on our own. That's where you men come in."

The elder Winchester quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I get what we need from you. Asyal uses it to impregnate human women."

"Asyal?"

"The incubus, Asyal."

"So you give this Asyal . . ." Dean's stomach rolled uncomfortably at the thought.

"You could say that. Actually, I merely shift forms."

Before Dean could say another word, Asilah disappeared in a flash of blinding light. When he could finally see again, the male demon, Asyal, stood before him, looking at him with what appeared to be lust.

Unable to help but notice that the incubus was as naked as the succubus had been, Dean muttered, "Uhh, no thanks, I don't swing that way." His stomach jittered again when the demon's glare and evil smirk silently communicated that he would if Asyal said he would.

Dean huffed a small sigh of relief when another brilliant flash of light heralded Asilah's return.

"So there you have it," the succubus announced. She pointed at the twins. "These two are a result of a long ago harvest, and like all Cambion, they have evil tendencies. Only they've decided to fully embrace them. To do so, they must learn and practice. On human males. So, I'm giving them—you. At least for awhile."

"Gee, ain't I the lucky one."

Asilah nodded. "You're not the first. Nor will you be the last." A cunning look settled on her face. "Maybe I should find that brother of yours next. I bet his essence is just as special—as tasty—as yours."

At the threat to his brother, Dean stiffened and yanked hard on his restraints, heedless of the pain it caused. "You stay the hell away from Sam!"

The succubus simply looked at him, amused by his ineffectual struggles.

And at some unseen signal from her, the twin Cambion pounced.

TBC . . .


	11. Hang on, Dean

Warning: This is a little on the graphic side.

_

* * *

_

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Sam thudded hard into the ground, the bag he was carrying skidding several feet out in front of him.

_Ouch—damn it—that hurt._

He turned over and saw, to his disgust, that he'd tripped over a protruding tree root partially hidden by leaves and other debris. The tall, lanky man lay for a minute to catch his breath. Exhaustion warred with urgency to find his brother in equal measure. He refused to let exhaustion win and staggered back to his feet.

With a growl of frustration, Sam grabbed the bag he'd dropped and yanked out a bottle of water. Instead of downing half the bottle as he would have liked to have done, Sam settled for a few sips, fully aware that his water supply was running low. He needed to save some for Dean when he found him.

Returning the water bottle to the bag, Sam palmed sweat out of his eyes and pulled out the much abused map. He'd managed to investigate two of the four remaining caves but then had gotten turned around and lost, wasting a precious 45 minutes of time before getting back on track. Sam eyed the map once more, reassuring himself he was heading in the right direction and stuffed it, unfolded, back in the duffel.

Only two more caves to go and his brother had to be in one of them. For Sam to think anything else was just not an option.

_Hang on, Dean, I'm coming._

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Dean groaned, lost in a red haze of pain and discomfort. His throat was raw and a circlet of purple bruises ringed his neck, fashioned by cruel demonic hands. He felt like a damned rotisserie chicken as the twins picked and pulled incessantly at him, slicing with knife-sharp nails. Carmine blood welled and dripped from an untold number of lacerations covering nearly every inch of his body. Most were long and shallow, but a few were ragged and deep, seeping blood at a steady rate. Worse, the moment one of them made a cut, the other would lick away at the blood with a tongue that burned like a hot poker.

Dean jerked and arched his back in agony when he felt the now familiar burning on the inside of his left thigh. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out.

Throughout it all, the full-blooded succubus both instructed and taunted, urging her offspring to glory in their viciousness. And as they did, the green fire in their eyes darkened, becoming less and less translucent.

The hunter had long ago tuned out the Cambions' hisses and sighs of pleasure as they tortured him. In fact, his head was spinning so much—the buzzing in his ears so loud—that at first he didn't realize the tenor of their interaction had changed. They had started to argue, and incredibly it was over him. As the argument escalated, Dean managed a harsh chuckle and slurred, "Hey, I always wondered if some day two chicks would fight over me." His low comment went unheard in the growing cacophony. Without warning, one of the Cambion—Lamia—threw herself at him and landed like a rock on his chest, driving the air from his lungs.

Dean gasped, trying to draw in air. He felt her clawing at his stomach but was so busy trying to breathe, the pain of her actions failed to register. He bucked furiously to dislodge her suffocating weight and wheezed gratefully when he was partially successful. The Cambion continued to screech at each other, their voices so high pitched as to be unbearable.

"ENOUGH!" Asilah's command cracked like a whip, reverberating off the stone walls.

She glared at the twins.

"Get out!" she roared, "Get out of here! I'll deal with you both later."

The Cambion quickly scrambled toward the cave entrance, clearly fearful of Asilah's wrath.

Once they were gone, the cave grew quiet except for Dean's still somewhat labored breathing. He tensed as the succubus glided over to him and bent forward. When she ran her tongue back and forth across his abused chest lapping at the blood as her offspring had done, he couldn't hold back a hoarse scream. If the twins' tongues burnt like hot pokers, the demon's tongue burnt like Sulphuric acid. He writhed under her assault, his vision blurred a gauzy gray.

Lifting her head and licking the remaining blood from her lips, Asilah reached up and undid the bonds holding Dean's arms above his head.

"Now it's time for me to have some fun."

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_


	12. Get the Hell Off My Brother

I thought this would be the last chapter but it started to get a little long. So Chapter 13, the finale, will be posted very, very soon.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and Sam was within striking distance of the next to last cave when he unexpectedly heard the sound of high-pitched voices nearby. Ducking behind a tree, he waited for the voices to draw closer. Finally, hearing movement to go with the bickering voices, he leaned around the tree to get a look at the individuals. He was surprised to see the blonde twins hurrying past.

A jolt of adrenalin shot through him, and he dropped his head back against the tree. Since the twins were in the area, Sam now knew chances were good that Dean was in the nearby cave. He waited for their voices to fade before quickly moving toward his original destination.

Ten minutes later, the young hunter came upon the cave. Stepping close, Sam listened intently. At first, there was only silence. Then he heard the low rumble of an unfamiliar voice. It was what he heard next though that spurred him into action. It was a choked shout of pain—a shout he recognized as his brother's.

Sam dropped the duffel bag and ripped out the rock salt loaded shotgun. Reaching in the bag again, he pulled out Dean's Colt 1911 and tucked it away at the small of his back. Sam crept forward into the cave. Just a few feet inside the enclosure, he was greeted with a haunting sight. The succubus was straddling Dean. Sam bit back a horrified breath. Not only was she straddling him, she was . . . touching . . . him. Sam blinked and swallowed back the taste of bile.

Stepping forward, cocking the shotgun, and aiming in one move, Sam growled, "Get the hell off my brother!" His voice was cold and quite deadly.

Asilah's upper body snapped around and she screeched in anger at the intruder.

The shotgun boomed and a load of rock salt hit her full in the chest. It wouldn't kill her, of course, but it provided enough of a kick to knock her back and partially off of Dean.

"Dean! Her wings! A succubus can't survive with a broken wing!" came Sam's urgent instruction.

Dean, who was still fuzzily processing the fact that his brother was really there in the cave, was slow to react but managed to sit up and latch on to one of Asilah's wings. Unfortunately, he hadn't the strength to get a good enough grip to actually break it and she easily flung him away. He cursed when the back of his head connected with stone.

Sam pushed forward, pulling the gun from the small of his back. He took careful aim and fired at her, but she was too fast and dived back on top of his brother, her hands closing around his neck.

Unwilling to shoot again and risk hitting his brother, Sam dropped the gun and made a desperate lunge for the demon's back. For once luck was with him and his hands closed around her wing in a punishing hold. The succubus, however, was incredibly strong and nearly succeeded in dislodging him. Hoping to gain a slight advantage, Sam began to chant the Angelic Salutation, which Bobby had told him may weaken a succubus.

Sam felt the demon cringe and falter, and he redoubled his efforts, finally anchoring her wing between his arm and body. With a loud grunt, he twisted the full weight of his body to the left and was satisfied to hear the wing crunch under his assault.

Immediately, she began to wail—the sound becoming louder and louder as she crumpled. She writhed and screamed for several moments and then fell still, her body withering into a twisted, desiccated husk.

"Get it off me," Dean muttered, his voice scratchy and rough.

Sam moved to comply but had to pry the demon's withered fingers from around Dean's throat before he could push the remains aside.

Getting a look at his brother for the first time, Sam cringed.

"Damn, you're a bloody mess."

"Nice to see you too, Sammy," came the mumbled, sarcasm-laced reply.

"C'mon, let's get you outta here." Sam tore away the bonds around Dean's ankles and helped his brother sit up.

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah," Dean's reply was an abrupt grunt. He pushed off the stone and stood, immediately feeling Sam's steadying hand on his shoulder when the cave dipped and swayed.

Dean eyed the duffel bag Sam had dropped just inside the entrance. "Tell me there's a pair of jeans in that bag."

"No—but a saw a couple of nice fig leaves on my way here. I can grab 'em if you want," Sam sent his brother a crooked smile.

His quip earned him a glare. "That is just so not funny, geek boy."

Holding up his hands in a placating manner, Sam said, "Okay, okay—not the time for a joke. I get it. Actually, yeah, I threw a pair of your jeans in there." Sam retrieved the bag and pulled out the desired item of clothing. "They aren't going to feel too good when you get 'em on." He handed them to his brother.

"Can you manage?"

"I got it." Dean stepped into the jeans and pulled them up, studiously ignoring the fact that everything was spinning around him. He zipped them but left the button undone. "Let's go." He hobbled two steps before abruptly stopping.

"What's wrong?"

"Shit." He didn't say anything else for a moment.

"Dean?"

"How far is it to the car?"

"What? I dunno. I was out in the woods all day searching caves. I wasn't keeping track. Why?"

"I don't know if I can walk back."

Sam looked at him, worried. "What—gonna pass out?"

Dean shook his head and instantly regretted it. "My feet."

"Your feet?" Sam stared down at them in puzzlement before it suddenly dawned on him what his brother meant. "Ah, hell. That's right—you were barefoot when the twins dragged you away from the lake." Remembering the rough terrain he himself had crossed, Sam looked at his brother with sympathy and dismay. "Man, I'm sorry. I shoulda thought . . . I mean I shoulda remembered . . . to put your boots in the bag. I can't believe I . . ."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up. Seriously—stop beating yourself up."

"But . . ."

"Listen, Barney Fife, this is coming dangerously close to a chick flick moment so just can it."

"Dean, I was just—wait a minute—Barney Fife?" Seeing his brother's half smirk, he continued, "What—because I missed that shot? My aim was good! She was just too fast."

"Uh huh." Dean chuckled despite the fire in his throat.

Sam knew his brother was baiting him, probably to take his mind off his own misery, so he let it go and ran a hand through his overly-long hair.

"I have an idea." Sam abruptly sat down on the cave floor and started removing his boots and socks.

"What're you doing?" Dean eyed him suspiciously.

"You can wear my socks."

"No!"

"Hey—they'll offer at least some protection."

"Dude, that's gross!"

Sam glowered at his older brother and offered him an ultimatum. "It's either this or I make a travois. Your choice."

Dean reluctantly thrust out his hand and muttered, "Hand 'em over."

Sam smiled at the rare triumph. After putting his boots back on, he gathered the guns and stuffed them back in the bag. Offering his free shoulder for his brother to lean on, he said, "C'mon, let's get the hell outta here."

They shuffled forward.

Disregarding the throbbing pain zinging across every inch of his body, Dean grumbled, "Hey, was that _**my**_ .45 you shoved into that bag?"

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_


	13. Stitches in Time

The journey to the car was an arduous one, colored with pain and exhaustion and interspersed with a repertoire of impressive curses. Sam was all but carrying Dean when they finally reached the classic 1967 Impala that sat gleaming in the moonlight.

Sam propped Dean up against the car long enough to open the passenger door, then gently guided his brother into the front seat. He quickly stored the duffel bag in the trunk and then tiredly slipped into the driver's seat. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes for a minute.

"M, Igettinbloodhoner?"

At Dean's incomprehensible slur, Sam opened his eyes, "What?"

Dean swallowed and tried again. "Am I gettin' blood on 'er—my car?"

Sam couldn't hold back a quick laugh. "No, no. You're okay." He was lying, but Dean didn't need to know that. He'd have the mess cleaned up before his brother even noticed.

The trip back to the motel was quiet.

Once there, Sam heaved himself out of the vehicle and hurried to the passenger side. Opening the door, he nudged Dean. "Dean, c'mon, we're at the motel."

His brother's answer was nothing more than a groan.

Taking matters into his own hands, Sam hauled his brother from the car as carefully as he could. "Can you walk? It's not far." Supporting most of his brother's weight, Sam managed to get him into the motel room and lowered him onto the bed nearest the door before returning to the car to grab their first aid kit from the trunk.

Back in the room, Sam gathered the necessary supplies to treat his brother's sundry wounds, some of which were going to need stitches.

"Dean, just so you know—I'm gonna have to put in some stitches."

"Guess you better get started then," Dean replied without opening his eyes.

"The . . . uh . . . jeans need to come off." Sam tossed a pair of boxers on the bed next to his brother.

Without a word, Dean slowly stood and eased out of the jeans and Sam's socks while he was at it, wincing as the material stuck to some of the wounds. He kicked the pants and socks away, pulled on his boxers, and dropped unceremoniously back down on the bed flinging an arm over his eyes.

"You okay?"

His brother remained silent.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine."

Accepting that for the lie it was, Sam got to work cleaning all the cuts, scratches, scrapes, and even a couple of bites marring his brother's body. He stitched up the deeper wounds.

Sam was applying the last of the antibiotic cream to the shallow cuts on Dean's stomach when he suddenly stopped. "What the hell? Dean, did you know the word 'mine' is carved on your stomach?" He was surprised to hear Dean snicker.

"So that's what they were arguing about."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. You done?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. I'm goin' to sleep."

"You wanna eat first?"

Dean grimaced at the thought of food. "Later."

"At least take these and drink some water. You need it." Sam handed Dean three Tylenol and a full glass.

Now that everything was over, hunger was quickly trumping Sam's exhaustion, his stomach's guttural growls growing louder by the second. "If you're okay for a few minutes, I'm gonna go get some food."

Taking his brother's deep sigh as acquiescence, he snagged the keys to the Impala and headed for the door. He paused when he heard his brother mumble, "Lemonade Muffins."

"What?"

"Bring me some Lemonade Muffins."

_**Fini**_

* * *

**A/N: So that's it for my first multi-chapter Supernatural drama. I would LOVE to know what you thought. How was the ending?**

**Thanks to all for reading. And another big thanks to those who reviewed!**

**Vanessa**


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